


The End

by phantomhivemast3r



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Horror, Supernatural - Freeform, canonical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomhivemast3r/pseuds/phantomhivemast3r
Summary: By all logical accounts, Michael Afton should have died long ago. He completed his task of freeing the young, helpless souls trapped inside the animatronics, and had also gotten rid of the monster responsible for those decades of torment. With the new opportunity to run his own Fazbear Entertainment Franchise, Michael hopes that he will find the answer as to why he still remains on Earth... and maybe, just maybe, he will finally be able to rest his weary soul for good.





	1. Go Back

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A few quick but important notes before you begin reading: this fanfic is based on the theory that Michael Afton has been the security guard throughout the FNAF series. Even though he was Scooped during Sister Location, he was still shown to be "alive" at the end (though in a pretty sad state), and many people believe that he is the one who has been trying to free all the children's souls trapped in animatronics throughout the years, via taking on the job of a night guard at various Fazbear's Pizza locations. Of course, as with all theories, this story is based on just that- a theory. Some things within this story have not been 100% proven to be true, but they hold up within this particular universe.
> 
> To that end, think of this story as a novelization of FNAF 6, with lots of extra content added in! Thank you for checking out this fanfic, and I hope you enjoy!

** The End **

** Chapter 1: Go Back **

“A franchise owner?” Michael croaked in disbelief, holding the digital advertisement on the phone close to his face. Though he could still see better than he should be able to in his current state of being, his eyesight had definitely suffered a bit over the years.

“A franchise... owner,” he repeated softly, throwing the phone onto the coffee table and placing his face in his hands. The table served as one of the only pieces of furniture in the tiny apartment he called “home-” a two-room dwelling, counting the bathroom as a separate room, with the barest of kitchens, a couch, and the tiny coffee table for company.

Michael had no need for a bed. When he rarely did need to rest, the couch served that purpose. Like the rest of his life, if one could call it that, his apartment was bare. No food; he had no need to eat. No pictures or decorations on the wall; he had no need for menial physical possessions. The only thing connecting him to the outside world besides the door itself was the phone that he kept on him at all times. It was his source for news and a way to keep up with whatever idiotic soap operas caught his attention that day.

By all logical accounts, he should have died long ago. His job was complete; he had freed the young, helpless souls trapped inside the animatronics and gotten rid of the monster responsible for those decades of torment. And, while he could never truly atone for the atrocity he committed as a naïve child, he felt as though he had done the best he could. However, something was still keeping him on Earth. He had been living in this apartment, waiting to be set free, rarely leaving for fear of how he would react to the outside world… and how the world would react to _him_.

Day after day, night after night, waiting and waiting.

Finally, it seemed he had his answer. That god-forsaken pizza franchise had been brought back from the depths of hell yet again. And if Michael was still there, then he knew it meant that someone _else_ was lurking in the shadows, too.

Taking as deep a breath he could with his shriveled lungs, Michael reached for the phone and began to dial the number on the advert.

_Unbelievable,_ he thought, closing his eyes as the grating sound of a telephone ring stabbed into his mind. _They were freed, and_ he _should be dead. He should be_ dead. _Unless-_

“Hello?” a low, measured voice on the other end of the phone said. Michael cleared his throat and did his best to speak in an understandable tone.

“Hello, yes, I… I’m interested in be… becoming a…” _Take it slow, Mike, you’ll get the words out if you try hard enough._ “Becoming a… franchise owner.”

“Ah, yes,” the voice on the line said tiredly. “It is a very easy process, regardless of whether you have experience in owning a business or not. What sort of background do you have?”

“Never an owner… but I…” Michael paused again, closing his eyes, running the words over in his mind. After years of deterioration, his voice did not work as well as it once had. He was thankful that he could still talk in the barest sense, although even saying hello was sometimes a chore. “I used to… work in… in the Fazbear chain. From the… early days.”

The voice on the phone was deathly silent. Michael began to wonder if something happened to the man, when he finally said, slowly: “…What is your name, Sir?”

“Michael,” he admitted without shame. After all this time, Michael was tired of the aliases. He would make up a last name when prompted, but after so many failed attempts to make things right, he had a sort of dark hope that using his real name would prompt _something_ in the universe to happen in his favor. The man on the phone was silent for another few beats.

“Welcome to the Fazbear family, Michael,” the voice finally said. Michael could swear he heard the remnants of a sad smile lingering in the man’s tone, but was not entirely sure. “No need to worry about finding a place to set up shop; I already have a location that I think would be perfect for you.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s very kind… of you,” Michael responded, taken aback.

“Please, there is absolutely no need to thank me." The voice on the phone gave a sad laugh.

"Don't I need to... at least have a... a phone interview, or something?" Michael frowned. "This is... really sudden."

Michael was, understandably, a bit wary- why was this man offering so much? In his lifelong experience with the franchise, those behind Fazbear Entertainment took whatever measures necessary to cut as many corners as they could. Giving a free starting location when it was not explicitly promised in the advertisement was far out of generosity’s range for these people.

"Our goal is to open up new franchises as soon as possible, and we believe that training to be an owner should be a part of the experience," the man on the phone responded with an air of practiced ease, though his words did not make much sense. “Now, is this a good number to reach you at?”

“...Yes," Michael finally admitted. It seemed as though the conversation was at its end, and he did not want to push his luck after getting such a startling opportunity. "Call me… anytime.”

“Alright; you will be hearing from me very, very soon.” There was another short pause, and then the man added, softly: “I hope that this job gives you everything you desire, Michael. We will speak again shortly.”

“What?” Michael questioned, but before he could utter another word, the line went dead.

_Odd… But certainly not the strangest thing I’ve heard in my life by far._

Putting the phone back on the coffee table, Michael leaned back against the couch and stared up at the dingy ceiling. Hopefully, setting out on this new business venture would give him the answer to why he still lingered on Earth, long after his body had ceased to be of proper use.

Frankly, when he was Scooped decades ago, he should have been dead on the spot. But, to his dismay, something caused his soul to stay, even as his boy was piloted around like a puppet. Even when his body was released from its foreign control, the core of Michael’s being remained, tied to what was now nothing more than the literal shell of a man.

Soon afterwards, he understood his purpose. He had failed in his first attempt to right his family’s wrongs- both his father’s and his own. But, as the years went on and Michael’s body stopped its rapid decay to settle in the state of a semi-lifeless corpse, he knew that he would not be set free until he accomplished his original mission: to save the souls of all the children taken away by the carelessness of a wicked man, and the soul of a boy destroyed by his brother’s own naïveté.

Michael thought the torment would be over a few years prior, after confronting his father and playing a twisted game of red light, green light. Once Fazbear’s Fright burned down, it should have been all done. Michael felt the four remaining souls leave for a better plane of existence, and he swore he felt his father’s soul go in the opposite direction.

But, he should have known better. Nothing was ever _that_ easy.

After dwelling things over and over again, he was almost certain that his father had survived. There might even be more children to free, more lost souls desperately looking for a way out. Maybe, with the purchase of his very own Fazbear Entertainment franchise, Michael would finally be able to send his father to the depths of hell where he belonged and get some much-needed peace of his own. Judging by the man on the phone’s tone of voice, however, he knew that this job would prove to be much harder then he initially anticipated.

Still, the only thing he could do was try again.


	2. Lots of Fun

** Chapter 2: Lots of Fun **

Two weeks later, Michael was forced to rouse himself up and out of the apartment. He had been staying in that singular living room for so long that, truthfully, he didn't even really know when he originally moved in. Time seeped together, with weeks seeming like years and years seeming like mere days. Michael was used to this sensation of floating aimlessly through time and space, although it made things rather difficult when he actually had a schedule to stick to.

Not to mention that, though his body had essentially frozen in a state of just-barely-pre-decomposition, it was still hard to move around. He often wondered if this was what his father felt like, mummified within his own creation. Then, Michael would shake his head and mentally berate himself for giving a damn about what agony that man was going through. In Michael's mind, his father deserved every ounce of pain forced upon him, and so much more.

As nervous as Michael was at the thought of being around so many people again, he felt at least mildly reassured by the man on the phone's promise that he would only be working behind the scenes. Henry, the man said his name was, had done all the hard work with regards to hiring employees, overseeing clean-up and renovation of the building, and putting in as many safety measures as he could at the time (a fact which Michael greatly appreciated). It was up to Michael to sit in the basement office and order supplies, make sure things were being cleaned as needed, and work on marketing ventures such as garnering sponsors and printing flyers.

Shuffling his way down the street with his hands in his pockets, jacket hood pulled down low, and face cast towards the ground, Michael wondered how much longer he would have to put up with this world. He was not sure how he was supposed to free any trapped souls if there were absolutely no animatronics in the pizzeria, save for the off-brand ones he had ordered with what little money he could afford to spend, nor was he sure of how he could find his father and destroy him once and for all.

Michael had moved away from the burned-down site of Fazbear’s Fright, all the way to the other end of town, though he could never bring himself to leave the State. This new pizzeria location was quite a fair distance away from Fazbear's Fright and Michael did not understand the connection with any of the original restaurants. However, Henry had been adamant about Michael working at this specific location, and the half-dead man was not in a position to deny anyone’s generosity.

A short time later, Michael lifted his head from the pavement to examine the outside of Fazbear Entertainment’s latest franchise monstrosity. The colors and signs covering the building were just as gaudy and cringe-inducing and he expected, and he had to look away for fear that he might lose his mind before he even entered the establishment.

_At least I don’t have to worry about murderous animatronics trying to get into my office,_ Michael thought, pushing open the door and stepping inside. The entrance opened directly into a short hallway, with a glass-fronted room off to the right that served as the front office. This would be for check-ins, orders, complaints, or whatever else the parents might need.

This was _not_ where Michael would be working.

Instead, he followed the instructions he had been running through his mind since his last phone call with Henry: down the hallway, veer left, take the “Employees Only” staircase down to the basement, and enter the "Employees Only" room at the bottom of the stairwell. _This_ is where Michael would be spending his days, in a small room with one desk and a very, very outdated computer monitor. He glanced to the left and right, as was a habit nowadays, and instantly got a chill down his spine.

Gaping, animatronic-sized vents jutted out from the walls on either side of the desk. They currently reached Michael’s chin, which meant that they would be at eye-level once he sat down in that horrible, cheap swivel chair. If he hadn’t been in this same situation multiple times before, he might have screamed aloud and run right out of the building.

However, this scenario was nothing new. Sighing with resignation, Michael locked the door firmly behind him and checked the vents for any way to close them up. Finding none, he planted himself in the chair and stared dully at the blank computer monitor.

He really, _really_ thought that this time would be different.

Alas, here he was again, surrounded by openings that he could not quite see and desperately wishing that nothing would try to crawl out of them. At least this time, being the one responsible for everything that entered the restaurant, he would be able to control what animatronics tried to get to him… or so he hoped.

***

Four hours later, the opening of Fazbear’s Pizzeria (Location Number 18) was in full swing. Michael could hear the sound of children laughing and happily screeching as their tiny footfalls made the roof above his head, which was the floor of the main Party Room, sound like it was being run across by a heard of baby elephants. So far, there had been no obvious sounds of distress from Michael's vantage point, much to his relief.

Strangely, there were absolutely no cameras set up around the pizzeria. When he looked through the limited functions of the old desktop computer, all he found were motion detectors and speakers in an ominous, simplistic display of the ventilation system. This was an odd design choice to most people, but Michael had a sinking feeling in the pit of his nonexistent stomach that he knew _exactly_ what these systems were for.

Despite the building dread, the day passed without incident. Michael was constantly worried that a wayward child would find their way downstairs to his office, but the daytime staff did a surprisingly good job of keeping everyone in check. Michael would occasionally receive text updates from the Manager on the status of the pizzeria- how things were going, what needed to be replaced or cleaned, and other such things. True to Henry’s word, Michael never had to leave the little underground office.

This was a welcome relief. After months and months holed up in his apartment, the short trek to the pizzeria had taken a lot out of him. It also did not help that Michael only had one mostly-functioning lung, and even though he did not technically _need_ to breathe, he never quite learned how to kick the habit. He was able to use the time between checking the restaurant’s status to sit back in his chair and just _rest._

He knew that this respite would not last long, but he took the opportunity to enjoy it while he could.

Soon enough, it was nearing nine pm. The families had all gone home and, with one final text sent by the Manager as he exited the front door, so had the staff. Michael sat there for a moment, waiting for something to happen. However, everything was still. With wary hesitation, Michael stood up… and that was when his phone began to ring.

“…Hello?” he answered after clearing his throat, seeing Henry’s name pop up on the caller ID.

“Hello, Michael; I trust you had a successful first day?” the voice on the phone replied.

“Yes, it was… well, it seemed to… to be good,” Michael said, nodding slightly even though he knew that Henry couldn't see him.

“Fantastic.” There was a brief pause and then Henry continued, with an edge to his voice that Michael was not particularly fond of. “Michael, there is… something else that I must talk to you about. An extra part of your job that I neglected to tell you about beforehand.”

_Here it is._ Michael closed his eyes, readying himself for what was to come. Any second, some horrendous metallic creature would spring out of one of those vents and be upon him. Swiveling his head to check for movement, Michael tried his best to keep the ear not put up to the phone trained to detect any wayward sound in the office.

“I apologize for not telling you this earlier, but I was not entirely sure you were the right person for the job,” Henry continued. “However, after talking to you for these past few weeks, I can confirm in every sense except for seeing you in person that you are, in fact, the one I need for this task.”

“How did you-”

“Everything will become clear in the next few days.” Henry cut off Michael’s interjection, and the half-dead man did not have the will to try to speak again. “If you choose to stay, that is; as always, you have a choice.”

_“As always?”_ Michael thought, frowning. _That’s an odd choice of words…_

“You do not have to complete this task I have for you- and I will warn you that it may be very difficult. However, I hope that you will at least consider it. What do you say?”

Michael hung his head, defeated yet again. What else was there to do? In an emotionless voice, he murmured: “Yes.”

“Thank you.” The lack of relief in Henry’s tone led Michael to believe that there was never a doubt that Michael would deny this request. “Please, go to the room at the far end of the basement hall; the door has a large ‘No Admittance' sign on it. Unfortunately, I will not be able to give you any real-time instructions once you enter that room, since the cell phone signal will be lost due to… interference.”

“Then how… will I know what… to do?” Michael asked, trying to remain calm. He was leaving this room- maybe he would _not_ have to suffer through five more nights of torment. He did not feel very confident about that idea, though.

“All of the instructions are pre-recorded on a cassette player,” Henry answered as Michael slowly pushed open the office door, checking down the hallway for any potential threats. “Everything you need to know will be on it.”

“Cassette tapes?” Michael questioned, beginning the short trek down the hallway. “A little… old-fashioned, isn't it?”

“I _have_ been accused of being ‘stuck in the past,’ on occasion,” Henry said with a curt laugh. “Still, cassette tapes still work if you have the proper equipment for them, as do most old-fashioned things.”

Michael merely grunted in agreement, coming up to the “No Admittance” door. It looked just the same as the office door, but there was a strange, electrical current-like energy coming from behind it, as if whatever was in that room literally buzzed with excitement.

“Oh, there’s one more thing I need to tell you,” Henry said, bringing Michael’s attention back to the phone. “As I mentioned earlier, you will be given another choice as to whether you want to complete this task or not. For safety reasons, the door is equipped with an auto-locking mechanism that will be activated once you step inside and fully close it. The door can only be opened from the outside, unless you select ‘No’ on the keypad attached to the door when prompted. You will see what I mean once you enter the room.

“If you select ‘No,’ the door will unlock and you will have 5 seconds to open it and leave the room before the auto-lock activates again. If you select ‘Yes,’ the door will remain locked until your task is complete. Does that make sense?”

“I…I suppose?” Michael said uncertainly. It seemed needlessly complicated, but if it kept the children upstairs safe, even when they weren't in the pizzeria, then he would do anything.

“Okay, good. I know you’ll chose the right thing,” Henry said, the faintest hint of a smile in his tone. “I assume you’re at or at least close to the door, so I’ll let you go. Good luck.”

The phone went dead, and Michael stared at it blankly for a second before closing the screen and slipping the device into his jacket pocket. Even if Henry said that there would be no cell service, Michael felt safe with the phone on his person, at the very least. Not wanting to prolong this any further, he pushed on the locking bar and the door swung open.

Michael scurried inside and was unhappy to find that the lights were off. He felt around for the light switch and flipped it on just as the door swung shut with a loud click. Instantly, that electric current started up again and Michael slowly turned around.

There was only a single light bulb in the room, hanging in what was presumably the center, giving Michael no sense of whether the area was small or large. It illuminated four things: a desk with a small stack of papers on it; a chair to sit in while examining the papers; the cassette player that Henry had mentioned; and something else sitting opposite of the empty chair.

Something large, metallic, and most certainly not as docile as it appeared to be at first glance.

"No...," Michael breathed, staring at the mangled, twisted hunk of metal that sat before him. Painstakingly slowly, afraid that any movement he made would somehow set off the animatronic, the half-dead man slowly made his way to the empty chair and took a seat.

_"No,"_ he repeated, though this time it sounded more like an anguished moan.

The last time he had seen this abomination known as "Funtime Freddy," if it could even be _called_ that in its current state, Michael had gotten Scooped. Merely looking at the thing across the table brought back the memory of organs being unceremoniously removed- if Michael still _had_ his stomach, he would surely throw up right then and there. However, instead all he could do was stare, horrified, waiting for something to happen and wondering how the hell Freddy had gotten _here._

After an intense, one-sided stare-down, Michael realized that, maybe, the animatronic was not going to move. He decided to risk looking away for a moment and turned his attention to the tape player to his left. His eyes flickered back to Freddy as he gingerly hit the "Play" button on the little machine; maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

_"Congratulations on completing your first day."_ Henry's voice echoed throughout the silent room. Michael kept his gaze trained on Freddy, knowing even though the creature _seemed_ inactive, it was probably listening to every word. _"However, your job isn't over just yet. There is another aspect to your end-of-day routine... and that is inspecting and salvaging any animatronics found in the alley outside the back door._

_"Things are found here quite often, and while we aren't sure why, what we do know is that they can be used for parts, which can mean a much-needed revenue boost before starting your next day."_

Michael's head began to fill with more questions that he knew would probably never be answered. Despite this increase in thought, he still watched Freddy with undivided attention, vaguely thankful that he did not need to blink as much as most living people do. To his amazement, the metallic creature hadn't even twitched... yet.

_"Of course, as with everything else in this line of work, those benefits come with risk,"_ the pre-recorded Henry continued. _"The safest thing to do is to throw it back outside. But then, you get no money for the salvage. Chose to keep it, and you run the risk of certain negative consequences- namely, death, should the item in question not be as docile as it first appeared."_

Michael couldn't help but let out a derisive snort at this comment, shifting his gaze away from Freddy to give the tape a glare. That might have been one of the most obviously-stated things he ever heard. Focusing back on Freddy, Michael's teeth instantly clenched in alarm- the animatronic had _definitely_ moved into a more upright position. How it had done this with absolutely no noise, Michael had no idea.

"Don't you... dare," Michael hissed, using all of his willpower not to throw the tape recorder at Freddy and run. He needed to stay and find out what this "salvage" was all about, and he obviously couldn't just leave Freddy here to potentially run amok throughout the pizzeria. Narrowing his eyes, Michael refocused on Henry's voice.

_"If you do decide to salvage it, then you must complete the maintenance checklist. During this testing phase, check on the animatronic frequently. If you feel that it is becoming unstable, use the taser provided to you. You can use it three times before damaging the hardware. Every use over three, however, will decrease the item's salvage value._

_"Before you is an animatronic found in the back alley. We are unsure of its origins. It is your job to complete the maintenance checklist before claiming it as 'salvage.' Or, if you choose to, you can throw it back into the alley where you found it and forfeit payment. Please make your choice now."_

Michael did not see how it would be possible for Freddy to _actually_ be thrown back into the alley- nor did he want the thing to be out in the world anymore. At least here, in this tiny room with Michael and the conveniently-placed taser he found in an uneasily-seen drawer in the desk, Freddy was at least _somewhat_ contained.

Remembering Henry's earlier instructions about the keypad on the door, Michael regrettably stood up, taser in hand. There was no way in hell he was going to let go of his only form of protection, nor could he take his eyes off of Freddy, so he backed up until he literally ran into the door. With a groan, he realized that he _had_ to look away for a second to find the correct button. Michael did just that, and when he turned back around, Freddy did not seem to have moved.

_"You have chosen to proceed with the maintenance checklist,"_ pre-recorded Henry said as Michael returned to his seat. _"Remember, use your company-issued taser to return the animatronic to a neutral state if you feel that it's becoming unstable or aggressive. You can only use it three times before it begins to damage the animatronic and decrease its value._

_"Begin audio prompt in 3... 2... 1."_

A grating sound that Michael couldn't quite identify issued from the tape player. He grimaced and clenched his teeth again, hand tightening around the taser. Any second, Freddy was going to spring to life, and Michael would have little time to defend himself.

However, to Michael's surprise, the audio prompt didn't actually seem to do anything. The animatronic remained where it was, silent and still.

_"Document results,"_ Henry instructed.

Hesitantly, Michael paused the tape and picked up the checklist, holding it up to his face- his poor eyesight was enhanced by the dull light from the lone bulb hanging over the table. After marking the appropriate section for a lack of reaction, Michael put the paper down and swore he caught one of Freddy's fingers twitching. Not taking any chances, he held the taser in front of him and zapped the animatronic.

The electrical surge caused the bulb to go out, plunging the room into darkness and nearly causing Michael to lose any semblance of calm he had managed to collect over the past few minutes. To his relief, the bulb flickered back to life almost instantly, revealing that Freddy had indeed reverted back to its original, slumped position.

With a little sigh, Michael allowed the tape to play again. He repeated the process of listening to the audio prompt and recording results twice more. Freddy moved again, but Michael did not feel the need to taser the creature just yet- he was morbidly curious as to whether the audio prompts _were_ actually causing it to move. Of course, because of this inquisitiveness the next event was almost inevitable.

After the final audio prompt, Michael's gaze shifted to the paper yet again. Suddenly, he heard an all-too-familiar laugh emanating from across the table. Instantly on red-alert, he threw down the paper just in time to see Freddy's eyes light up and its mouth open wide as it said in a silly, glitching, sing-song voice:

"Knock, knock, I'm heeeeeeere~"

Without warning, the animatronic lunged. Michael let out a shriek and held his arms in front of his face, as if that would prevent him from getting horribly mangled once that _thing_ got a hold of him. He felt cold metal brush against his shoulder, and if Michael didn’t know better he would swear it felt like an affectionate pat. He expected the next sensation to be a stab through the back, but instead… there was nothing more than the sound of scraping metal fading into the distance.

Quickly, Michael whirled around to see the tail end of a metallic tendril fading into the wall. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the room, Michael realized that it was _not,_ in fact, completely sealed; there was a large, square hole in the wall that appeared to lead straight into the ventilation system.

“Oh _no_ ,” Michael groaned, raking his hands through his hair. The animatronic had escaped into the vents, and he knew exactly where it would end up tomorrow night.

_I should have known this place wouldn’t be any different,_ Michael thought, staring blankly at the dark hole. Luckily, his thorough search of the digital map earlier that evening had revealed no other openings in the ventilation system except those leading into his office and, apparently, into this particular room. He would have to double check the entire building to make sure this was indeed the case and that there were no secret, hidden rooms unavailable on the map, but potentially this situation would be alright.

At least, it would be alright for the children… which was all that Michael cared about.

With a creaking of old bones, the half-dead man stood and shuffled to the door. He spared one last look at the vent, half-hoping that the animatronic would come back out so that he could somehow find a way to deal with it right then and there. However, when there was no sign of the creature, Michael pressed the “No” button on the door and ran out of the room as fast as he could, pulling it tightly closed.

For the next two hours, Michael carefully examined every nook and cranny of the building. He knew that he would be unable to fully calm himself until this particular ordeal was over, but he at least wanted to make sure that the children would be safe for as long as it took to get rid of this nasty animatronic. Without a doubt, Henry would make sure those doors opened tomorrow regardless of what was hiding within the building; Michael wanted to be assured that the only thing that salvaged Freddy could go after was _him._

Thankfully, he found no other ventilation openings save for those in his office below ground, although he could swear that the animatronic was tracking him through the vents as he conducted his search. Regardless, he was as certain as could be that there was no way it could get free. Even though his office door didn’t have as high-tech a lock as the one to the Salvage Room, he figured that it would at least hold for a bit if the metallic creature got the urge to try and break out.

With that thought in mind, Michael locked up the front door of his franchise building and began the walk back to his apartment. Be it from years of experience or simply a long-developed intuition, Michael had a feeling that the animatronic was right where it wanted to be.

And at seven am the next morning, he would be back there as well.


	3. You Can't Escape Me

**Chapter 3: You Can'** **t Escape Me**

Michael left his apartment an hour ahead of schedule the next morning. Though he rarely slept, he was usually able to calm his body enough that he could lay on the couch staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. However, that night had been one of the worst nights in a while; unable to stay still, Michael paced for hours on end. While the clicking and creaking of his joints certainly did nothing to ease his nerves, at least he had gotten the chance to exercise his weary body and would be in better shape to fend off wayward animatronics during his next shift.

Though Michael had only encountered Freddy so far, he did not expect that to remain the case for long. He was absolutely certain that  _something_  would turn up in the mysterious salvage that evening, although he dared not guess what that something would be.

Of course, there were quite a few questions that ran through Michael's mind as he pulled his hood low over his face and checked his jacket pocket for the building keys. Where did that animatronic come from? Yes, Henry had mentioned on the cassette tape that it had been found in the back alley- but how had it gotten there in the first place?

Also, Henry had never told him  _how_  to salvage the animatronics; he had merely instructed Michael to "proceed with the salvage," and then Freddy ran past him into the vent. It almost seemed as if Henry  _knew_ that this would happen and did not feel the need to explain what the salvage itself entailed.

However, it appeared that Michael would be getting no more information out of Henry. After about twenty phone calls, thirty texts, and twelve voice messages, Michael finally gave up on reaching the suddenly-elusive head of Fazbear Entertainment. It seemed that Henry would only talk when  _he_  wanted to talk.

Michael was mulling over these thoughts as he walked down his apartment stairs, looking at the ground and oblivious to the world around him. Because of this, he did not see the boy jogging towards him until they nearly ran into each other.

"Whoa! Sorry, man!" the boy exclaimed, swerving out of the way just as he was about to knock into Michael's shoulder. Michael himself jerked to the side as if struck by lightning, folding on himself and tugging the hood lower over his face. The other boy raised an eyebrow at this strange behavior, before suddenly perking up. "Mike! Dude, I haven't seen you in, like… forever!"

Michael flinched at the use of his childhood nickname. He had explicitly told this boy- "boy" in the loosest sense of the word, since he was in his mid-twenties-  _not_  to call him that. But, as with every other piece of advice given to him, the boy did not take this to heart.

"I've… been busy," Michael said slowly, sparing the other a quick glance. Chad was his name, and Michael would have been happy spending the rest of his days without ever seeing him again. Although, he knew this was an impossible wish due to the fact that Chad lived two floors below him.

"Oh, you got a job?! Awesome!" Chad grinned, holding his hand up for a high-five. Michael merely stared, half of his sunken face visible in the dim morning light. Chad's smile slipped as he lowered his hand, but he quickly saved the expression with a more genuine curve of his lips. "I'm really happy for you, man. I'm… yeah. Congrats."

"…Thank you." The kid was an idiot, but Michael knew he was genuinely trying. And, since Chad was the one who had gotten him this apartment at a severely depleted rate, he felt as though he should at least try and be cordial. Besides, Michael owed a lot more to this boy than he could ever explain.

It was Chad who, through some strike of divine fate, decided to revamp the original Fazbear's Family Diner and turn it into the morbid fiasco that was Fazbear's Fright. Of course, at first Michael was furious. He thought the franchise was dead and was livid that someone had the gall to disturb the restless spirits that were still trapped within its walls. Michael had resolved to save the children no matter what happened, of course, but he did not think this was the way to go about it.

However, there was an unexpected consequence to Chad's actions that, in the end, Michael assumed had worked out for the better. While remodeling the building, Chad and his crew had come across one of the Golden Bonnie springlock suits used decades ago in the original pizzeria. Once that decayed rabbit was released from its prison within the building walls, Michael finally understood why he had been feeling the indescribable urge to work there ever since he read the advertisement.

The Golden Bonnie suit was not simply a relic of the past- it contained a soul as well, although it was the last one that Michael ever wanted to see. After years of searching, years of anguish and frustration, he had finally found the man who lost his mind and went on the murdering spree that forever haunted the Fazbear name: none other than Michael's father himself, William Afton.

Just like the children he killed, William had been trapped within his own creation, forced to decay in a hidden room until some unwitting person set him free. After five nights of torment, Michael realized that the only solution was to burn the place down with his spring-trapped father inside.

Of course, Chad was mortified that his potentially successful cash-grab went up in flames, despite the constant warnings from Michael that this was a very likely possibility. Moreover, when he finally saw Michael face-to-face- since Chad had never actually bothered to have a meeting with his employee before hiring him-, he was absolutely appalled at his appearance.

This was very convenient for Michael. He thought he would be freed once he got rid of his father, but unfortunately that was not the case. As he had done many times before, he knew that he needed to find a way to survive under the radar until he could figure out how to  _really_  free his own soul. Michael managed to convince the very flustered and overwhelmed Chad that his withered, discolored appearance was due to the fire. To avoid a costly lawsuit, Michael said that he would be happy with an unobtrusive place to stay. Feeling horrible about the situation and knowing that there was no way in hell he would ever win _that_  lawsuit, Chad decided to sublet a part of the apartment complex across town he was a co-owner of at absolutely no cost to Michael.

So, there they were, former boss and employee-turned neighbors. Since Michael kept to himself, Chad rarely saw him, but he made a point to check up on the quiet guy every now and again just to make sure he was okay.

"Well… it's good to see you again," Chad said after a long stretch of uncomfortable silence. He flashed Michael another grin, and the half-dead man attempted to mirror the expression. Unfortunately, it turned into more of a pained grimace that sent a small shiver up Chad's spine. With a quick nod of acknowledgement, the boy scurried away towards his apartment. Michael turned back to the road with a sigh.

Unexpected human interaction already gave this day a bad start; he hoped that this wasn't a prelude to an even worse end.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Michael had secured the building for any ventilation breaches and shut himself in his basement office. A shot of anxiety passed through him as he locked himself in the room, but he quickly shook this off. After going through this experience so many times before, he reasoned that he should be used to it.

There was no false friendly greeting when he turned on the system this time. The old modem booting up was the only sound that echoed throughout the room. Well, that and the pounding of tiny feet as children began streaming into the pizzeria to enjoy a day of fun, parties, and cake.

Michael, on the other hand, settled in for the torment ahead.

Within ten minutes of working, the first metallic tap came from inside the vents. Michael swiveled to his left, flashlight in hand, and shined it into the dark space. There was nothing to be seen, but that did not mean that nothing was  _there._  Slowly, flashlight still trained on the vent as long as possible, Michael turned back to his computer and checked the "Movement" detector.

Sure enough, something was scurrying away from where Michael sat, heading for another unknown destination within the vents.

Quickly, Michael flipped to the Audio screen and sent a peal of child's laughter through a faraway vent. He wondered for a brief moment what the patrons would think of random voices and  _thunks_ echoing metallically within the ceiling, but then realized that no one would even notice amid the chaos of the Pizzeria. As long as he kept Freddy from going after the children, Michael would be satisfied.

He was certain that he could handle one animatronic. It was the sure-fire addition of a second metallic creature that set Michael's nerves on edge.

However, that was a thought for later in the evening, when Michael actually encountered the newest member of his Pizzeria. For now, he had time to dwell on the nature of Freddy itself as he deflected the creature's attention to a faraway vent. He couldn't understand  _how_  Freddy came back; yes, it was horribly mangled and had obviously been through hell, but that didn't stop the fact that it was  _active._  Michael couldn't imagine whose poor soul was inhabiting this animatronic, unless it was a new child that suffered the same fate as the others without his knowing.

_Or, it could be-no._

Michael shook his head, chasing away that ridiculous thought. The last time he encountered  _that_  horrible amalgamation of animatronics was decades ago, and that experience was the direct cause of the half-dead man's current physical state of being. With a great deal of effort, he had spit out all the wires and parts, only for them to get lost in the sewer, presumably to never be seen again.

_But, of course, things never stay dead around here… do they?_

Plus, when Freddy escaped into the vent the night before, Michael swore he felt a metallic tendril brush against his shoulder. There was only  _one_  animatronic- or a collection of animatronics, really-, that displayed tendrils like that.

Slowly, knowing full well what a stupid idea this was, Michael stood up and walked to the right vent. His recent push of the audio button meant that the creature would soon be lurking on this side; sure enough, he heard the echo of faint scuttling. Softly, almost afraid of saying the name aloud, Michael whispered,

"…Ennard?"

Instantly, the scuttling stopped. The room filled with a dense silence that was even more unnerving than the animatronic's constant movement. Then, the creature began to laugh, bathing Michael's entire being in the silly, electronic tone.

"One biiiig happy family~" the voice sang, and at that moment the sound was all-encompassing. Another fit of uproarious laughter echoed throughout the room, soon fading out as the creature ran to the far end of the building and away from the tiny office.

Michael could only sit there, mouth hanging open in disbelief. He never thought he would have to encounter that creature again- that twisted union of animatronics that, in a vain attempt at being human, created a name for itself that constantly rang throughout Michael's head whilst they were literally stuck together. At the time, Michael did not have the strength to point out the irony of the name "Ennard" being based on the creature's most essential robotic parts.

Despite giving him a flashback to arguably the most traumatizing point in his past, Michael wasn't necessarily  _scared_  of the realization that it was Ennard who'd found him once again. The thing had already done its worst, and despite its creeping through the vents, it  _had_  just backed off once Michael realized what it was.

Maybe, in another strain of its twisted logic, Ennard just wanted to be near the only semblance of "family" that it had. Or, maybe the creature had a bigger plan that Michael would soon discover.

"That's…probably it," Michael said aloud, his voice strained, mentally berating himself for daring to think of Ennard as anything more than a piece of AI gone rouge. He placed a hand over his hollow midsection, held together by hundreds of haphazard stitches and a prayer that they would never come undone. The half-dead man couldn't imagine what more Ennard possibly wanted, but it definitely had something to do with  _him_  specifically, not just the pizzeria. If that was the case, it would have reappeared at another location years ago.

To Michael's mild relief, he did not find out what Ennard actually wanted during his current shift; the rest of the day passed without incident. Michael used the audio systems to keep Ennard entertained, but even when he slipped up and the animatronic had the perfect opportunity to attack, Ennard chose to stay at the far end of the vents. It was almost as if he were giving Michael a break and, while Michael appreciated not being attacked, this only served to make him more nervous.

By the time everyone had gone home and Michael received a text from the Manager that everything was cleaned and accounted for, the half-dead man's anxiety was at its peak. He walked towards the Salvage Room, phone securely in his shirt pocket, knowing that the device would serve absolutely no purpose once he entered the electrical dead space. Despite this, Michael felt as though he was prepared for almost anything. If Ennard had found its way back to him, what other familiar creature would be waiting in that room?

Once Michael locked the door and turned to face the latest Salvage, he realized that the answer was the worst option possible.

Remnants of gold, matted fur glowed in the flickering light. Once-friendly animatronic eyes were hidden under a hooded mask of pure malice. A large hole on the top of the creature's head, right in-between the rabbit ears, revealed a section of a rounded, white shape that most certainly was  _not_  part of a metal endoskeleton.

Michael could not bring himself to walk to the table just yet. Even after all these years, it still seemed too soon to be around this horrendous creature that used to be nothing more than a man just like himself. Instead, as if hoping that saying the word would make this nightmare end, Michael breathed out the name of the person he had been tormented by for decades:

"… _Father_."


	4. Chapter 4: It's Me

** Chapter 4: It's Me **

Michael didn’t expect any huge reaction out of the decaying rabbit costume. Maybe a slight shift in the eyes, a tilt of the head, or even a twitch of the ear if the creature felt particularly excitable. However, as the minutes ticked by and Michael remained rooted to his spot just inside the door, the rabbit refused to move.

“I _know_ … it’s you,” Michael murmured, gaining enough confidence to shuffle over to the empty chair at the table. His eyes narrowed as he stared hard at the spring-lock suit, examining the sorry state of the thing in front of him.

Decades ago, Michael had truly loved the mummified man trapped inside the rotting rabbit suit. When he was young, Michael spent as much time as he could with his father, the person half-responsible for the successful Fazbear Entertainment Franchise. In those days, William Afton was inventive, friendly, and a model citizen.

Then, the first tragedy struck. Soon afterward, another child was lost to the animatronics that he so lovingly crafted with his own hands.

From that point on, William’s life was turned upside-down and over again. He was never fully able to regain his footing, and that instability ultimately led him to do the unthinkable. At first, his intentions were to save his family. However, along the way that original idea became mangled into a twisted sense of revenge for his own misfortune. His eldest son, Michael, was quickly swept up in this misfortune as well.

“At least… _I’m_ trying to… to redeem myself,” Michael snapped aloud, voice echoing in the dark room. His father, forever trapped in his own spring-locked suit, remained immobile. “…Heartless _bastard_.”

Angrily, Michael jammed his finger against the Play button on the cassette player. After a second of whirring gears, the same voice as the night before filled the air.

_“Before you is an animatronic found in the back alley. We are unsure of its origins. It is your job to complete the maintenance checklist before claiming it as ‘salvage.’ Or, if you choose to, you can throw it back into the alley where you found it and forfeit payment. Please make your choice now.”_

Michael frowned at the cassette, confused but not surprised that it had been inexplicably rewound to the salvage instructions from the night before. Remembering the next step of the process, he paused the tape and, without taking his eyes off the rotting rabbit, stood and backed up to the door. He shifted his gaze for a split-second to make sure that he pressed the correct button, swiveling his head back to the rabbit when the door lock clicked into place.

William Afton hadn’t moved.

_“You have chosen to proceed with the maintenance checklist,”_ the cassette voice said once Michael sat down again and pressed Play. _“Remember, use your company-issued taser to return the animatronic to a neutral state if you feel that it’s becoming unstable or aggressive. You can only use it three times before it begins to damage the animatronic and decrease its value.”_

_I don’t_ care _about its “value,”_ Michael thought bitterly. _I just want him off the streets, like he should have been_ years ago.

“…How _did_ you… get here?” Michael asked aloud, pausing the tape yet again. His stare was so focused that he thought he might burn a hole through the decaying fur. “Now’s your… chance to answer.”

The corpse in the rabbit suit did not make a sound.

Michael gritted his teeth, wanting nothing more than to activate the taser and throw it at the creature in front of him. However, he knew this would solve nothing. If anything, it might prompt an undesired reaction, for Michael was 110% certain that his father was very much alive and aware of everything happening around him.

After all, if William wasn’t self-sufficient, how had he made it to this restaurant? According to Chad, no one had set foot on the land that had once been Fazbear’s Fright since it burned down the night before its grand opening. Either someone transported the charred remains of Springtrap, as Michael had ironically referred to the creature before he knew its true identity, to his new franchise location, or the rabbit had walked there himself.

Michael would bet his last remaining breaths it was the latter.

“Fine,” he muttered bitterly. William obviously didn’t feel like talking, so there was no further use in prompting him to do so. At least, not in the typical fashion.

_“Begin audio prompt in 3… 2… 1,”_ the cassette voice announced, followed by a horrible grating sound that set Michael’s heightened nerves even more on edge. _“_ _Document_ _results_ _._ _”_

The rabbit refused to move, so Michael picked up the checklist and held it up to his face, reading closely to make sure he marked the correct box. This checklist, too, had been inexplicably “reset” and replaced with a brand-new sheet. Michael placed the paper back onto the table and narrowed his eyes at the creature across from him. Had it always been sitting up that straight?

"Don't," he said through clenched teeth. Picking up the taser, Michael turned it over in his hand once and then pointed it threateningly at the creature across the table. "I'm _not_ afraid... to use this." Taser clutched tightly in his right hand, Michael played the cassette tape again.

_“Begin audio prompt in 3… 2… 1."_ Another grinding sound, another lack of movement from the animatronic. _“_ _Document_ _results_ _._ _”_

This time, when Michael placed the paper back onto the table, he was undoubtedly certain that his father shifted position during his momentary distraction. Without hesitation, Michael thrust the taser onto the animatronic's chest and activated it. The little machine produced so much electricity that the light above short-circuited. In the momentary darkness, Michael expected to feel a pair of large hands wrap around his throat. However, when the light blessedly came back to life, the rotting rabbit was back in its original position.

"Don't... fucking... mess with... me," Michael hissed as threateningly as he could. His grip on the taser tightened as he brought it back to his side; there was no way he was letting it go now. The hardness in Michael's eyes softened as he looked at the wretched state of the creature in front of him. "I tried to... give you another chance, Father. But... you destroyed it decades ago."

To Michael's surprise, that actually prompted a reaction. His father remained still, but a deep laugh echoed from the decaying suit. The sound was so mirthless and devoid of remorse that Michael was instantly brought back to the day he had discovered his father's crimes. When confronted about all that he had done, William Afton had merely laughed, exactly as he was doing now.

For the first time in years, Michael did something he'd promised himself he would never do again: he acted without thinking. Disregarding his former reservations about pissing his father off, Michael activated the taser and threw it straight at the rotting rabbit. The taser lodged itself between a pair of exposed rib-bones, sending an electric shock throughout the mummified body as it once again short-circuited the light.

A fleeting smile passed across Michael's lips in the darkness, before the gravity of his actions fully hit him. He realized that he'd literally just thrown away his only form of protection. Not to mention that, as immobile as he seemed, now _William_ had the weapon in his possession.

_"Shit!"_ Michael hissed as the light flickered back to life, revealing that the rotting rabbit no longer sat in its chair. Standing up and peering over the table, Michael found the creature on the floor, fingers twitching as the remnants of electricity flowed out of the metal endoskeleton. The taser lay on the floor near William's side.

Cautiously, Michael walked around the table and stood over his father, fully expecting him to jump up and scare him, as he had done countless times before. When the rabbit didn't move, against his better judgment Michael reached down to grab the taser. Just as his fingers grazed the surface of the weapon, a large, fur-covered paw latched around his wrist.

"That was easier than I thought it would be," William said, his eyes rolling in their sockets to meet his son's. The eternal grin of the rabbit costume seemed to widen as the murderer got to his feet, being painstakingly sure _not_ to let go of Michael.

"No...," Michael whispered. Looking into the crazed eyes of the creature responsible for so much torment, the first wave of genuine fear he'd felt in years washed over his body.

William’s voice was deeper than Michael remembered, with a grating edge as if the man’s vocal chords rasped against the metallic endoskeleton with each word. The fact that he spoke in the first place was rather surprising because, for reasons Michael had yet to discover, his father hadn’t said a word during their time together in Fazbear’s Fright. William had laughed quite a bit, of course- so much so that Michael heard the echoes of demented chuckles every night for months afterwards. Despite that, William never actually _said_ anything. Whether this was because he physically couldn’t at the time, or because something _else_ stopped him from speaking, Michael had no idea.

Nor did he really care. Michael had grown accustomed to his father’s lack of speech, just as he had grown accustomed to everything else in his life that, to the average person, seemed inconceivable.

“How did you… come back?” Michael asked, eyes locked onto the sunken remains of the rabbit suit’s own animatronic eyes.

“I _always_ come back,” William responded simply, tightening his grip around Michael’s wrist as the younger man struggled to get free.

“But… _how_?” Michael repeated, not in the mood for cryptic answers. An anxiety unlike anything he had felt in years slowly began to build in his chest, growing every second he stared at the decaying rabbit costume. The man in front of him was _bad;_ it radiated off the robotic suit in tandem with the electrical current blanketing the room.

“You’re _evil_ ,” Michael hissed, tired of his father’s refusal to answer and figuring that this was a much more fitting word to describe him than simply "bad." Michael yanked his arm again and heard a small _snap._

He gasped, freezing in place, staring at his arm as William looked down at it as well. To Michael’s relief, nothing appeared amiss from the outside; however, this did not mean that nothing was wrong with the limb. It was both fortunate and unfortunate that Michael couldn’t feel much pain these days- fortunate, because he couldn’t even begin to imagine what sort of mental state he would be in if his nerves were still fully working and could feel everything that was already wrong with him... but unfortunate for a similar reason.

Slowly, as if filled with morbid curiosity, William let go of Michael’s wrist. Thankfully, Michael’s hand didn’t immediately flop downwards once the pressure was released, but there was definitely an unpleasant twinge near the base of his hand.

“I… _hate_ … you,” Michael spat, backing a few feet away from his father and cradling his arm against his chest. It was a childish thing to say, he knew that, but the increasing worry of how much longer he would be able to use his right hand was already beginning to cloud his thoughts. In response, William Afton simply laughed.

Michael nearly lost it right then and there. It took all his willpower not to run straight at the rotting rabbit and beat it until either he or his father were damaged beyond repair. But, Michael knew this would accomplish nothing. Whatever he had to do to complete his on-going mission of redemption, he knew _that_ wasn’t it.

As Michael nursed his arm and debated what to do, William spared a quick glance at the wall behind Michael’s chair. Michael followed his gaze, eyes widening as he realized what William had _really_ been doing the entire time he sat in that chair pretending to be “inactive.”

“Wait!” Michael exclaimed as his father began lumbering towards the opening to the ventilation system. He took a step towards the rotting rabbit, wanting to stop him, but then realized that without some form of weapon, there was nothing he could do at the moment. With one powerful swipe of a paw, Michael would be down for the count. 

“What a deceptive calling,” William said derisively, briefly looking at the cassette player as he passed it. “I knew it was a lie the moment I heard it, obviously. But, it was intriguing nonetheless.”

“What do you… mean?!” Michael asked, following as close as he dared. There was no way to stop William from getting in those vents- Michael knew that. However, maybe his father would suddenly decide to be a little more forthcoming with information; it certainly didn’t hurt to try.

Unfortunately, Michael’s wish was not granted. With another deep, rumbling laugh that echoed throughout the small room, William spared one last dementedly gleeful look at his son before crawling into the vent and vanishing from sight.


End file.
